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Author's Chapter Notes:

Brian's PC decides it's time . . . Hotdiggety! Enjoy! TAG

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Chapter 29 - PC Feelings.

 

The boy turned and stared at all the new art supplies he now had at his disposal and had to smile all over again. It felt like Christmas and his birthday all rolled together. He’d never had this much good quality stuff at hand in his life. Which was problematic in itself since he felt horribly guilty having the Master spend that much money on him, especially when he knew how much the man was struggling to get together all the money for his bid price. He’d tried to get the Master to put some of it back or, at the very least, get less expensive materials. However, the Master had insisted that he get the higher quality stuff, saying his work wouldn’t be the best it could be if he didn’t use the best to start with. The boy was conditioned not to argue, so he gave in without much more discussion, but he still felt a niggling worry eating at his conscience over the money spent on him.

 

Which was just one more reason to create something that would make the Master proud. With a determined sigh, he picked up a pencil and started lightly sketching the outlines of the picture he saw in his head. But, as always, the initial outline quickly grew and changed. By the time he was actually applying paint, he barely recognized the original idea. That didn’t matter though. He was used to the phenomenon. It often happened that way. Sometimes, like now, he almost completely lost touch with reality while he worked. It was like there was some force outside himself that took over his brush or pencil and guided his motions while his brain was elsewhere. It was incredibly relaxing.

 

While his hands were busy, the boy found his thoughts drifting back over the momentous events of the past couple of weeks. He was still too overwhelmed by everything that had happened to process it all. It was so hard to believe that he might have actually fallen into a sheltered place. He couldn’t completely avoid the doubt and fear that cropped up again and again no matter what he did, but he was, sort of, starting to believe things might turn out okay. Perhaps he could trust this Master. Perhaps he might survive the life he’d been handed. Maybe . . .

 

He didn’t know how much later it was when he finally realized that his hands had ceased moving. He found himself standing in front of the easel with what appeared to be a completely finished painting sitting there staring him down. He didn’t recognize it at all. It was nothing like the vision he’d started off with. It was better.

 

“Hey, Sunshine. You about done?” the boy heard the words a split second before he felt the arms of the older man snaking around his waist in a comforting, loose embrace. “It’s getting late. You’ve been over here for about four hours. How about you take a break and we get some food?”

 

The boy couldn’t believe that it had been that long. He hadn’t felt the time passing. Now that he thought about it though, he could feel the fatigue in his back and a trembling in his right arm.

 

It had been worth it though. The painting in front of him was probably one of the best he’d ever done. The swirling blues and blacks and greens were evocative of the depths of a stormy night. But even though the colors were as dark as usual, this time there was something different about the painting. This time, he’d washed the whole canvas with a translucent, shimmering pearlescence that wasn’t so much visible as visceral. You didn’t actually notice it when you looked directly at the painting, but it still registered in your subconscious somehow. The effect was minimized at the center of the image but stronger around the edges, as if it was creeping in from the surroundings against the painter's will. It made him think of a hope that he wasn’t sure he felt. It was a nebulous hope, but somehow still a hope all the same. And it totally surprised the artist who didn’t know where that particularly sticky sentiment had come from.

 

The arms around him cinched tighter for an instant. “It’s . . . amazing, Sunshine.”

 

The boy heard the note of pride and felt himself filling with a happy warmth that he hadn’t experienced in a very long time. He allowed himself to lean back into the arms of the man holding him, reveling in the sense of easy acceptance. He hadn’t felt this much support ever in his life. It was the best feeling he could remember. And he didn’t want it to end.

 

“You better be careful though, Sunshine,” the Master murmured in his ear, the warmth of his breath tickling along the boy’s skin. “This one looks borderline cheerful. If you start making your paintings too happy, Bloom will be pissed. He was so thrilled with your ‘darkness’.”

 

The boy tensed. It was true. This painting didn’t feel as dark as the others that the Bloom man had praised earlier in the day. Maybe he wouldn’t like it. He’d said that the other paintings would sell because they were dark and emotional, like what the public would expect from a PC, but this one wasn’t like those. What if Mr. Bloom rejected this one? The Master would be disappointed in him if this painting wasn’t as good as the others. The boy didn’t want the Master to be disappointed in him. Not ever.

 

Lunging forward, the boy started to grab for his paintbrush, intent on fixing the painting and obliterating that sheen of possible happiness before anyone would be offended by it. He hadn’t managed to move even a foot though, before the Master pulled him back. He struggled for a moment, so intent on fixing the offensive painting that he didn’t even hear the Master’s words at first.

 

“Stop it, Justin,” the Master was repeating when he finally focused on the voice in his ear. “I was joking, you silly twat!” The teasing tone finally registered. “It’s perfect. It’s fucking exquisite. Bloom’s going to cream his pants over it. Don’t you dare fuck with it.”

 

The arms around him held him back while the amused words teased his ear. He was still unconvinced, though. This painting wasn’t like the others and now that the Master had pointed it out he couldn’t help but worry that it wouldn’t be acceptable.

 

“Damn, it! Stop worrying, Sunshine. I’m sorry I said anything. It’s fucking perfect as it is. Trust me, Bloom is going to love it.” The master’s grip on him was unrelenting, refusing to let him go so that he could get to the canvas.

 

Despite the words, the boy still wasn’t sure. He needed to know that his efforts hadn’t been wasted. He needed this painting to be perfect. It wasn’t enough that it was good. It had to be right. It had to be acceptable. It had to be good enough to sell so that the Master would be proud of him and the cost of all these supplies would be justified. Anything less was unimaginable.  

 

“I love it, Sunshine,” the consoling words finally broke through his anxiety with their calm reassurance. “I fucking LOVE it. It’s perfect. It’s just like you, Sunshine. I wouldn't change a thing.”

 

And, in spite of all the boy’s lingering doubts, the clear sincerity in the Master’s words rang true. He could feel the approval emanating from the strong body behind him. He could hear the pride and praise in the Master’s voice. And it felt . . . It felt so fucking amazing. It felt like the painting looked. It was approval. It was acceptance. It was hope.

 

And he WANTED that feeling.

 

The boy wanted that so badly, the desire was tangible. There was an ache in his gut that was so strong, it threatened to swamp him. He hadn’t had hope in so long he’d forgotten how good it felt. He needed that hope so much. If only he could be the Master’s Sunshine and take back that Hope . . .

 

The boy slowly turned around in the arms circling him. He looked up at the face of the man standing over him. He saw only approval and support. There was no anger. No contempt. No lack of sincerity. Just warmth and affection and approval.

 

And the boy felt himself falling under that spell. His need for that approval was too much. The undeniable, inherent longing for acceptance wouldn’t be denied. The need for something he thought he’d never feel again. For love.

 

Before he even realized what he was doing, he'd reached up with his right hand, curled it around the taller man’s neck and pulled Brian’s face down to his own. His lips latched on to the raspberry red mouth with a hunger he didn’t know he felt until it was unleashed. He was sucking and licking and biting at those lips as if they were the only form of sustenance he’d had in more than a year. And the Master - Brian - was returning his advances with just as much fervor, kissing him back with a sense of urgency that perfectly echoed the boy's desire.

 

The heat growing up between them was soon evident. The Master’s hands were holding onto the boy’s hips possessively, pulling the smaller body up against his larger frame. The boy’s own hands had slid down until they were gripping the well-muscled biceps, enjoying the innate strength he felt there. When Brian shifted so that one longer leg was between his, the boy couldn’t help himself - he naturally began to rut against it, moaning as the arousal ramped up with every rhythmic motion. And all the while those kisses kept raining down on him, hot and wet and desirous. Desiring HIM. Desiring of a boy who had been told he was nothing and didn’t matter and that nobody would ever care about him again. He felt himself melting into that embrace, his body molding itself to the Master’s warm length, as he fought back the niggling fear that even then tried to assert itself.

 

The boy wanted this. He wanted to feel these feelings. He wanted to know that someone desired him. He still wasn’t sure if that desire was based only on him being a PC - a glorified sex toy - or if it truly portended more. But he wanted to believe it was something better. He wanted to believe that the Master - Brian - truly did care for him.

 

He also wanted to maintain that feeling of acceptance and approval. He had really enjoyed that look of pride in Brian’s eyes and he longed to see it again. He wanted to be someone that was worthy of praise and approbation and maybe even love. He wanted to be Brian's 'Sunshine’. Sunshine was strong and bold and smart. Sunshine wasn’t scared of his own shadow. Sunshine wouldn’t be afraid to let Brian touch him. Sunshine was the sort of person that would do whatever it took to prove himself deserving of Brian’s attentions.

 

Which didn’t mean that the boy no longer felt afraid. He was still apprehensive about the very idea of sex. Everyone had told him that he should be prepared to be hurt and humiliated. But if he had to bear some pain in order to get the acceptance he craved more than anything, he would do it. He could handle a little pain - it wouldn’t be the first time he’d been hurt.

 

Besides, he figured he might as well get it over with. It was going to happen sooner or later, so it might as well be now, at a time of his own choosing, rather than some other random moment, perhaps when he wasn’t ready. Brian obviously wanted him. The boy thought he wanted this too, or at least his body was telling him it wanted this. He might as well rid himself of his unwanted virginity and be done with it. Hopefully, in the process, he'd please the Master and earn himself more credit with this man who now controlled his world.

 

With that being settled, the boy steeled his nerves, took a deep breath and reached up to slowly begin unbuttoning the Master’s shirt. He kept his eyes focused on the center of the taller man's chest, afraid that if he didn't concentrate on something innocuous, he'd start to freak out. He'd only managed three buttons before his hands were stilled by larger hands clasping his wrists.

 

“You don't have to do this, Justin,” the mellow voice intoned but the words were belied by an edge of lust.

 

The boy continued on to the fourth button.

 

“Are you SURE?” Brian asked insistently.

 

Still not looking up, the boy finished off the fifth, sixth and final buttons before pushing the shirt down off Brian's shoulders. Brian finally dropped his hold on the boy’s wrists, allowing the shirt to slide all the way to the floor. The boy let his palms alight on the now bare chest, feeling the heat radiating off the smooth skin. He could feel his own breathing speed up as he hesitatingly trailed his fingertips lower, brushing over nipples that instantly pursed into hard little beads. He watched as the skin stippled under his light touch, finding the sight strangely empowering. He took heart in the fact that he had such power over the body of the man who owned him. It might have seemed a small thing, but it was something HE was finally in control of. He liked that feeling and it encourage him to try for more.

 

His questing fingers finally drifted to the waistband of Brian’s jeans. The boy swallowed nervously but didn’t stop. He quickly popped the buttons of the fly, one after another, until the fabric was lying open . . . That’s when his bravado failed him. He froze. He didn’t know what to do next or where to put his hands now that he’d accomplished the task of undoing all the buttons he could find.

 

“We don’t have to do this, Justin,” Brian’s baritone voice murmured, apparently taking the boy’s hesitation for cold feet. “Remember, you’re in charge here. We can stop any time you need to.”

 

“I . . . I want to. I just . . . I don’t know . . .” He felt so silly stuttering through not even a full sentence, but after more than a year of intentionally holding back his words, it was almost like he’d forgotten how to communicate. “. . . what to do . . .”

 

“If you’re sure . . .” Brian cupped the boy’s chin with both hands and lifted until he could see the anxious but determined blue eyes.

 

Whatever the man saw there, must have been convincing. Brian nodded and smiled, then held out his hand, palm up, and waited until the boy laid his own smaller hand on top. He gave the thin artist’s fingers a little squeeze and then headed off towards the bedroom, tugging the smaller man along after him. The boy went willingly, grateful actually that Brian was taking charge of matters.

 

As soon as they’d reached the bed, Brian dropped the boy’s hand. He turned until they were facing each other, smiling reassuringly down at the uncertain teen. When he still saw no resistance, his fingers began to forage under the hem of the t-shirt the boy was wearing, inching higher along the smooth skin of the boy’s stomach as he gathered the fabric up. The boy stood stock still, unsure of what he should be doing or not doing and instead opting for total quiescence. What with the boy’s docility, it took no time at all for Brian to get the t-shirt off and then remove the loose drawstring pants he was wearing as well.

 

“So beautiful, Sunshine,” Brian mumbled, almost as if he couldn’t stop himself from saying the words.

 

The boy would have smiled at the words if he hadn’t been so nervy. Instead he simply waited, trying to quell his anxious expectations about what the Master would do next. He felt like he was about to jump out of his skin any second, but he’d already resolved that he was just going to get this over with, so he stubbornly held still and tried to remain calm.

 

Brian, meanwhile, shucked off his jeans and then sat down sideways on the bed about halfway down the mattress. He patted the spot next to him invitingly. The boy fought down another surge of incipient panic before he settled himself beside the older man, perching a little nervously on the very edge of the mattress. He gasped when the Master reached over with his right hand, cupped his face and pulled him around till they were facing each other. The Master waited until the boy looked up, then smiled encouragingly. The boy tried to smile back but feared that all he'd managed was a frightened grimace. He knew he was shaking. He couldn't help it.

 

“Shhhh,” the Master whispered as he leaned in and planted another kiss on the boy’s trembling lips. “It's going to be okay. I'll take care of you, Sunshine,” he promised, sounding just like he did when the boy’s nightmares would wake them. “Shhhh.”

 

The boy tried unsuccessfully to stop his quaking. He wished the man would just get on with it already. Maybe the Master sensed his trepidation. Or maybe not. But either way, things started to move faster from that point on, as if time itself was speeding up.

 

The Master claimed the boy’s lips again in a passionate, breath-stealing kiss and, while the boy was busy with that, the older man gently pushed him backwards until he was lying flat with his legs still bent over the edge of the mattress. Next, the kisses began to drift lower, across the boy’s face, his jaw, down his throat, over his collarbone, down his chest. By the time the kisses reached his abdomen, the Master had shifted so that he was now crouching on the floor next to the bed, situated between the boy’s knees.

 

The still-trembling boy bent his head up so he could watch as the Master settled on his knees, pulling the pale thighs wider, continuing to deposit small kisses over every available centimeter of ivory skin. The Master’s arms snaked under the boy’s legs, wrapping around hamstrings till they could grip solidly onto the slender hips. Then, with a playful smile and a waggle of his unmanicured brunet brows, the older man bent down and enveloped the boy’s cock in his velvety warm mouth.

 

“Oh!” the boy exclaimed with surprise. He truly hadn't expected that. From everything he'd been taught, he'd assumed that his Master would always be on the receiving end of any blow jobs. He'd never even imagined it would be the other way around. However, as he let his head fall back, he had to admit that the Master was rather good at this. He definitely had the technique down. He also got marks for enthusiasm.

 

A lot of enthusiasm . . . enough that the boy didn’t think he’d last long enough to get to the actual deflowering. It was only a couple minutes before he felt that rising tide of pleasure welling up from his core and threatening to erupt. The boy tapped at the Master’s shoulder insistently, trying to signal his dilemma even though there wasn’t enough blood in his brain to operate his speech centers. The Master didn’t stop, though. He didn’t even slow down. If anything, he might have accelerated his efforts, his warm wet mouth sliding deliciously up and down the boy’s shaft, maintaining a steady suction while his tongue did little swirly things at the top of every stroke.

 

The boy’s breath was now coming out in little bursts of ‘oh, oh, oh’ but he stubbornly tried to hold back. He grabbed hold of a fist full of sheet with each hand and tried to think of something other than the tingling vibrations that were emanating outward from his cock and threatening to swamp his entire consciousness. Even then he might have held off except that, right then, the Master moved the hand that had been gently fondling the boy’s balls and a second later he felt one of those fingers sliding up his tightly puckered asshole. After that it was all over. The boy lost complete control and found himself shooting his load down the Master’s throat as his orgasm swept over him.

 

“That’s better,” the Master asserted, licking his lips as he lifted his head. “Now that the edge is off, and you’re more relaxed, the rest should go a little easier.”

 

The boy was still gasping for air, so he couldn’t have responded even if he’d known what to say, but he did have to admit that he was pretty well relaxed. In fact, he wasn’t sure his muscles worked at all right at that moment. And he definitely wasn’t trembling with fear any longer. Now he was just trembling from the waves of pleasure still percolating through him.

 

 

Chapter End Notes:

11/11/16 - How's that for some distraction for you? LOL. Hope this helps a bit. More to come. TAG

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